What I Haven't Told You I
by CortessaBlatt
Summary: Part of a collection of silly little backstories from various crewmates. Piece I, focusing on Remote and BaoDur. Oneshot.


**What I Haven't Told You I**

_Part of a collection of silly little backstories from various crewmates. Piece I, focusing on Remote and Bao-Dur._

**Rated PG13 **– Crude jokes, swearing, and so on.

**Disclaimer: **Most of this was off the top of my head, but the characters, situations, and locations are not mine in the slightest.

**What I Haven't Told You**

I had never seen such a collection of misfits.

Standing on the deck in at least five rows was the crew of the battleship_, the Sweep_. The ship itself had been intended to drag behind a fleet and clean out all surrounding forces with deadly ease, masked by thick stealth fields, but now it had been armored top to bottom and fitted with rapid-fire war guns, and its top-notch military crew had been replaced by these rookies.

I, myself, having arrived in the first troop and therefore having already gone through the briefings, did not have to stand. It was against military regulations to leave my station anyway, unless it was commanded by anyone more than the General. With my fingers poised about my consol board, I sat half-turned in my seat, watching with mixed disgust and amusement as the newbies tried to arrange themselves in order of rank. Of course, they all had the same rank, and it took them some time to understand this. The General, so far the only one who was keeping this ship afloat, was slowly slouching, not entertained. The usual gleam in her eyes was gone. I grinned.

She was bored.

My Remote hissed at my shoulder. Jumping, I quickly returned to my consol, though I glanced up more often than not to watch. Most were humans, who, unlike most races, bred like gizka and were about as annoying. There were few proper humans I had ever met – the General, for one, one of my bunkmates named Ryan, and a few others scattered throughout my past. Watching the belching, scratching, noisy crew, I felt I would find no more worthwhile humans today. Of course, there were a few standouts. An Ithorian here or there, though Ithorians were a much more peaceful race and therefore did not attend war very often, a handful of Cathar, a fair-sized cluster of Rodians, a very large group of Twi'leks, one or two Sullustans (though most were techs like me), perhaps a smattering of Zeltrons… oh, I began to lose count. There were definitely a few Chiss hiding in the background, and obviously a few more races I hadn't counted in their rarity. However, as far as I looked, I could see no other Zabrak. A small stab of loneliness reached me, but I shut it out. If my kind refused to defend itself, it deserved to smolder.

The General was speaking to the new rookies, but most weren't listening. A small group had begun whispering to each other and passing credits. They were firmly reprimanded, and the crew fell silent. The Sullustan beside me began to pray under his breath, his ears flapping back and forth with excitement. My hand itched to slap him.

Remote clunked against one of my horns. Hissing softly in pain, I shot him a warning glare, but he only beeped what could be considered laughter for the droid, and locked into his compartment beside the consol to recharge. Absently, I noted that it needed a memory wipe, but somehow I could never bring myself to do that to the droid I had carried with me since childhood.

The new crew had begun scattering, obviously to find their places. The General looked around, saw me, and winked pleasantly. I flushed, very aware that I was not doing my job, and, with a hurried movement of respect, I turned back around and hunched over my consol. The Sullustan beside me was laughing at me, teasing me and my 'foolish human ways.' I groaned inwardly. Sullustans couldn't tell the different between a bantha and a dekk fly, let alone a Zabrak and a human. I wasn't going to bother correcting him today.

The intercom screeched and crackled with static. I frowned, casually turning the speaker away from my ear. I didn't understand why we were running maintenance checks now, while we were already orbiting Dxun. It would do us no good to land if our stabilizers didn't work. Finally, a garbled message came through the intercom.

"Check, check, two-two-oh-one," the voice said.

Another voice, faint and fading quickly from the static, said, "What's with the random numbers?"

A different voice snapped, "Shut up."

A small titter of laughter passed through us. Rookies. While obnoxious most of the time, they had their uses. I heard a soft thud – the General had slammed her forehead on her desk in exasperation. Her counsel cautiously patted her on the back and offered her some water that she only took after he had slipped some wine in it. Alcohol was not allowed, but no one ever checked for that kind of conduct anyway. At least, not on this particular ship.

The intercom squealed again and, in a sigh of static, the voice returned. "Check, check, two-two-oh-two. Check, check. Twi'leks have big jugs. Over."

There was an outcry from some of the new Twi'lek technicians, most female, who were unused to such jive during on-time. I shook my head; they would learn quickly. A few others, however, laughed, even the General, who snorted halfheartedly into her cup.

I felt sorry for the General. She was a good person, a lighthearted person. She didn't deserve to feel the weight of war on her shoulders while she was so young, so fresh. I could still see the childhood roundness in her cheeks, and I could sense that, beneath her bulky armor and overlapping Jedi robes, that her body was still full, perhaps not even yet at its peak. And I felt sorry for her loss of that. She may not leave this war with that, with what she had. No one deserved to lose their own bodies, their own skin. No one.

She caught me watching again. The look she gave me this one was tinged with amusement and irritation. "Focus on your work, tech, or get the hell out," she barked. "This is war, not pazaak. You won't get away with dragging along. You'll get shot."

The Sullustan grunted at me with what could be considered laughter.

Slumping in my seat, I miserably returned to by work. I wasn't very old, either, I decided, barely registering the codes I was typing in. To think I had only grown horns seven years ago! It didn't seem very long at all. But I had started late, I suppose. It didn't do any good – they were still tender and sensitive. Back home, the others would tease me about my stubs while they were fully grown. But perhaps my lateness benefited my calm; I am very subdued for a Zabrak.

At least there were no others here to thunk me for it. Perhaps that was the upside to me being alone. It didn't help much, though. Those whose numbers were greater, the Twi'leks, especially, taunted me constantly for being the only one here. I stood out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb with horns and a floating Remote.

My bunkmate Ryan thumped me on the back as he passed. I felt something click against the back of my chair – he had dropped me a thimble flask of ale. I shoved it into my pocket to return to him later, and resumed working. This time, I was not distracted from my work, not even by the General, who once paused over my shoulder to be sure that I was, indeed, working.

That night, once my shift had ended, I gave my consol up to a blue-eyed Cathar who, in his age, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His fur was bald in places where he had been wounded in battle, and what fur remained was steadily graying. His face was firm and set, but wise and warm, so I offered him a bow. He nodded back, his eyes brightening, and sat down. Remote beeped something along the lines of 'furry tech' in my ear, but I ignored it.

I felt the night weigh heavy on my shoulders as I trudged to bed. But halfway there I encountered a newbie who had gotten trapped in one of the blast doors. Screaming bloody murder and thrashing like a wild mynock, he saw me and began writhing harder. The thick metal casing on his armor kept the door from squashing him flat; an alarm was blaring and the breastplate on the boy was slowly being dented inward.

I rushed to the nearest terminal, secretly rolling my eyes, and hurriedly tapped in the override codes. The alarm suddenly stopped and then the door gave an almighty groan. There was a loud hiss and pressure gas steamed into the vents; the door opened again.

The newbie lay on the ground, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath with tears in his eyes.

"Next time," I said, standing over him, "when the warning bell rings, step out from under the door."

"Got it," the newbie gasped.

"Good." I nudged him aside and headed on towards the barracks. This was going to be a long journey, with or without closing blast doors.

I fell asleep dreaming of dead Mandalorians, drunken Generals, and fidgeting newbies.

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**Author's Notes: **So this is part one of a series of random clippits from the lives of various KOTOR characters. I've got a Juhani one coming up. This was just Bao-Dur during the Mandalorian wars. I might have some info scattered around here, but I still had fun. Ah well. Next chapter of Savior Self coming this weekend.


End file.
